Ghost of a Chance
by peace.love.jonas22
Summary: She runs away, despising the life that she lives. She doesn't know where she's headed, only that it's someplace far, far away. She meets somebody along the way, somebody who's determined to figure her out, and make things right with her. xxNileyxx
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! I've had this idea for a while, but I'm just getting up to posting it. This is definitely one of my more mature stories, but it's really not that bad. Just some self-harm, language, and violence. **

It was twelve o'clock in the night, and I opened the front door of my house quietly, as to not draw attention to myself- it was way past my curfew, and I was silently praying to God that my dad had gone to sleep a long time ago. I was dead if he found out that I was home three hours after I was supposed to be. Just my freaking luck. I see a colorful flicker of light coming from the television in the living room, and someone chuckling harshly.

_Oh, God. Damn it, he's awake._

I tried to sneak up the stairs, forgetting for just a second that the fourth one from the bottom was super-creaky, and would give away anybody who tread upon it, but it was already too late. Before I can stop myself, I lightly place my foot down upon it, in a desperate attempt to sneak up the stairs.

"MILEY RAY CYRUS, WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?"

The TV shut off abruptly then, and a towering figure began making his way towards me.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I kinda lost track of time." I backed up one step in fear.

"Lost track of time, my fucking ass." His words began to slur, and the smell of alcohol washed over me. The almost empty beer bottle in his hand was more evidence pointing towards the fact that he was completely drunk. It was nothing new, and I was expecting what happened next. He balled his fist, and brought it hard to my stomach. I doubled over in pain, tears welling in my eyes.

"You're just an ungrateful bitch, like your damn mother. I give you everything you want, but you can't find the decency to show up at home before you're supposed to?" He throws me- hard- to the ground, and my head hits the step above me.

The tears flowed freely out of my bloodshot eyes now, and it kinda hurts, stings.

"I'm sorry-" I managed to choke out before I felt an all too familiar stinging on my right cheek.

He had slapped me, and I could feel my cheek go red.

"Yes, you will be sorry."

"It- it really won't happen again, Dad."

"You damn well better hope it doesn't,"

I was sprawled out on the floor, and, kicking me one last time in the stomach, he tipped the can back into his mouth, swallowing the rest of the liquor. He walked away unsteadily, and threw his empty beer bottle at me.

Taking my chance to get up, I weakly limped up the stairs. Laughing softly at my pain, he went back to his TV, grabbing another bottle of beer out of the fridge.

I walked into my room, and collapsed onto the floor in a fit of sobs. I didn't know what I had done to deserve this, especially from my own father. There was never a time where he wasn't drunk, unless he was completely hung over, and passed out on the couch.  
My mom had left us when I was only thirteen, throwing my dad into this crazy depressed funk, and that's when he started this whole drinking crap. It became an addiction, an obsession to him, along with cigarettes, and, occasionally drugs, and has been ever since. He was home most of the day, but left most mornings for a few hours, and sometimes in the evenings to go to a bar or two. Since my mom had taken off with my younger sister, Dallas, I was forced to stay here and live with him. It was only him and me here, no one besides me for him to take his anger out on. Just the slightest things that I would ever do or say would completely piss him off, and, the next day, I would show up at school in long-sleeved turtlenecks, and jeans, even in the middle of July, like it was now, to hide the bruises and scars. I was starting to get the feeling that some of my friends were becoming suspicious, and a little scared. Before my mother had left, I used to be that girl, the happy-go-lucky one, the one that people couldn't help but love, and smile along with her. Bubbly, overenthusiastic about everything. So full of life, full of excitement and happiness. Now, recently I'm becoming more and more depressed by the day. I hardly smile, barely talk or eat. I've learned to shut the people that care most about me, who I love the most out. I'm definitely not proud of what I'm doing to them, to me, of what I'm becoming, but I'm scared. Scared about what might happen to me, or, more importantly, to someone that I care about, if someone were to become to close to me, and figure it all out. I know that he needs help, and, someday, he'll find it. I just hope that day comes before he gets mad enough to kill me.

I raised my hand shakily, and wipe away the tears that cling to my cheeks, smearing them all over my face in the process, and attempt to stand up.

As I do so, something falls out of my shirt, and I bend down to identify it.

It's a shard of glass from the beer bottle my "dad" had thrown at me. I pick it up, observing it closely.

I shut my eyes tightly, shedding a few more unwanted tears as I press it's sharp, jagged, point into the bare flesch of the inside of my wrist, and it takes the pain, the regret, the worries all away for a second as my mind numbs, and everything around me goes black. It doesn't hurt like I thought it would. It sort of felt nice, like taking a break from reality for a while.

Then I realize what I'm doing, and drop the piece of glass. It lands on my foot, and bounces into the soft carpet, staining a portion of the stark white carpet crimson.

Bright red blood gushed out of the deep gash on my arm, and I begain to feel a bit woozy at the sight of the blood, and the rusty, metallic smell overwhelms me. I walk into the bathroom, and gently press a towel to the wound, keeping slight pressure.

I fall back onto my bed, and before I can shut my eyes completely, I'm completely out cold.

**So.. let me know how you like it, or if you think I should continue! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! I'm so sorry that Summer Love is taking so long to upload, I've been going through some things right now. You guys deserve a new update. :)**

Sure enough, the next morning, as I got up and stretched my muscles, I could feel that my arms, legs, and stomach were sore and stiff, and my stomach felt swollen. I lifted up my shirt slightly, and I could see clearly that blue and purple bruises were beginning to form all around my stomach, and my arms were blotchy red. There were a couple bruises that were just beginning to form scattered around, and, under them, bruises and marks that had previously existed, and were beginning to heal, and disappear slowly.

I walked into the bathroom, well, my stride was more like a limp since last night, and stripped out of my clothes, stepping into the shower. Hot water gently cascaded over me, and I shut my eyes, enjoying the feeling. My muscles felt relaxed for once, and the water mildly numbed some of the pain.

Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the shower, wrapping my towel tightly around my tiny body.

I walked back into my room, stopping in front of my dresser. I turned to face the mirror, and let the towel slide to my feet. I observed the markings around my body. Since there weren't many noticeable marks on my legs, I settled on a pair of knee length Bermuda shorts, and pulled them on. On top, I slid a navy blue long sleeved shirt over my torso. I didn't feel like doing anything fancy with my hair, so I simply swept it up into a messy ponytail, and applied minimal makeup, so it didn't look like I had any on. I thought that I had done a pretty good job of hiding the bright red handprint on my cheek with loads of concealer, but still some very slight discoloration was noticeable, but someone would have to be staring at my face very carefully to see it. I added a few colorful bangles to my right wrist to cover up the large cut there.

I walked downstairs, praying that my dad was elsewhere, so I could get out of the house without him beating me, and I wouldn't be late for school. I walked into the kitchen silently, in case he was there, and grabbed a banana off the countertop. I was alone in the kitchen, my dad wasn't there. I hadn't seen him anywhere else in the house, and as I walked outside, I noticed that his black pickup truck wasn't parked in the driveway like it usually is, so I knew that he wasn't home._ At the bar_, I assumed knowingly, _Getting drunk. Again. _I knew that I should be expecting a pretty rough night. The more drinks he would have had, the angrier and more violent he would get, the worse it was for me. Knowing him, he wouldn't be back home until after I returned from school.

I walked to my car, a black Audi, and got into the driver's side carefully, trying not to aggravate any of the fresh bruises. I drove to school, and circled into the parking lot, and drove to the front of the school, parking in the spot I've been parking in for the past three years.

The car parked next to me, a black Mustang, **(Notice how I like black cars? lol.) **belonged to my best friend, Demi Monroe. I saw her sitting in her car, headphones plugged into her ears. She was silently jamming along to the song playing, and singing along, just to herself. I tapped on her window, trying to get her attention. Her head shot up, and she turned to the right to face me. She yanked the cord of the headphones, and the buds came out of her ears. She smiled brightly at me, and reached over to unlock the doors. I returned a weak smile, and opened the passenger's side door, sliding into the smooth black leather seat.

"Hey, Mile," She looked at me, and noticed how my face looked for the first time. "What's wrong? You look like hell,"

I sighed, knowing that I couldn't deny the fact that something was terribly wrong with me.

"Well, thank you." I said sarcastically. "And, it seems like everything's wrong with me, Dem. And I really wish that I could tell you what's going on in my life right now."

Demi stared at me.

"You can, Miley! Can't you trust me enough to keep this, whatever it is, to myself? Is that it then, you don't trust me?"

I shook my head vigorously.

"No, no, Demi. If this was a matter of trust, you would have known in a heartbeat, trust me. I trust you more than I trust myself. But, it's not a matter of trust."

"Then, what is it?"

"Demi, I'm not telling you because it would place both of us in huge danger. The last thing that I would ever want is for something bad to happen to you, like it will if you find out, especially on my account. Keeping this from everybody really is the best thing."

Demi nodded her head, looking a little scared.

"Okay, Miley. But if you ever decide that you're going to tell anyone, I'll totally be right here."

"Alright, Dem. Now, we really should get to class. The bell's going to ring any second now, and I really can't afford to be late again,"

We walked to the main school building together, then darted off towards our separate classes, in completely opposite directions, waving a quick goodbye to eachother.

Demi Monroe is my absolute best friend. She's there for me through anything, it's always been like that, and I feel like she's the only one that I can talk to now, the only one that I can trust with my feelings. She knows that something major is happening with me, but she knows not to press too hard. She's been my friend since we were both six years old, in the first grade; we were both young and fearless. Back in the good days, back when everything was easy, carefree, how a family should be. I had a mom back then, I was the happiest little girl in the world.

I walked into the door of the large classroom slowly, avoiding eye contact with anybody, as the first bell rung. I strutted to the front of the classroom, and sat down in the seat I had been assigned to at the beginning of the year.

I was used to the staring. I could feel twenty pairs of eyes, boring into my back. I had changed so absolutely in the time period of a single night, and people couldn't help but wonder what happened to the Old Miley.

I just ignored them. I hadn't told anyone about what was happening to me at home, and I strictly intended to keep in that way.

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	3. Chapter 3

I'd gotten used to the staring, the whispering, a while back, to the point where it almost felt normal, like a part of everyday life. Over time, I learned to tune it all out.

Surprisingly, for one, the day seemed to fly by quickly, usually the seven hours of the day dragged on and on, and normally it would feel like decades would pass before the last period of the day rolled around.

The echoes of the obnoxious last bell still sounded through the large high school building. I practically flew through the hallways, pushing through the crowd of people who had the same idea as I did- get out of the building ASAP.

Once I had reached my car, I fished my ring of keys from my pocket, and jabbed the unlock button on my car keys twice, and the car beeped and flashed once. I pulled the silver car handle outward, opening the door. I slid through the door carefully, and sat down uncomfortably on the black leather seat. The sun had penetrated through the windows of the car during the day, heating up the seats, and the heat burned through my pants. I shifted around often, as to not let my legs get too hot. I shoved the keys into the ignition and turned them swiftly, starting the car's engine.

I sat still for a few seconds, remembering the timed when life had been so easy.

After I had turned nine, things started to change. We were no longer the loving family that everyone was used to seeing. The fights between my parents began, the main topic being me. As a result of an untimely drunken one night stand, I was born, and when my mom was three months pregnant with me, my dad and mom decided to get married. They cared about each other, and were in love for the longest time. That was until my dad found out that my mom had cheated on him- with his best friend, nonetheless- and was pregnant with a child that wasn't his. For a few weeks, there were fights, and my dad wouldn't sleep in the same bed as my mom. Then, the fights stopped, and they seemed to be happy again. A few months later, she had Dallas, and then, when I was thirteen, I guess that she decided that she couldn't take it anymore, she didn't want to live the life that she did, with the nonstop fighting between her husband and herself, and two daughters to take care of. So, she packed up one night, kissed me on the forehead, told me she loved me, and would see me soon, and left without another word, and neither of us has heard from her since then.

I threw the car into reverse, and backed out of the parking spot, looking out of my rearview mirror.

Hardly paying attention to the roads, I reached the driveway that lead up to my large house. No truck was parked sloppily in the driveway, so I didn't have to worry about my dad for at least another couple hours.

I sprinted inside, determined to make the most of the little time that I had to myself.

An hour and a half passed, and I still had my body sprawled out across my purple bed sheets, the same ones I've had since I was eleven, with my face buried inside my Advanced Calculus textbook. I heard a car door slam shut-hard- outside, and I didn't even have to look outside the window to realize that my dad was finally home. I winced as I heard the sound, then tore apart my curtains and saw my dad stumbling up the path, keys gripped tight in his right hand. An angry scowl was set like stone on his face. He disappeared from view as he entered the house unsteadily, and I could hear his heavy footsteps even from where I was laying upstairs. No bottle was in his hand as far as I could see, and I took that as a good thing.

He started yelling my name, and I sighed heavily, and got up from my bed. Walking down the stairs slowly, I began to look for him. I didn't notice him anywhere; the yelling had also stopped abruptly. Almost jogging, I scanned around the lower level of the house for any signs of him.

My eyes widened as they came in contact with an unconscious body lying limp on the couch, I rushed over to him, grabbing his wrist. I pressed two of my fingers under the bottom of his palm, checking for a pulse. A faint beating was there, but it worried me. It was nowhere as strong as it should normally be.

I yanked my cell phone from my pocket, dialing three familiar numbers hastily. There was a mumbled "Hello" from the other end of the phone. I hurried to tell the lady what had happened, and she informed me that an ambulance would be at my house soon.

"Thanks," I mumbled frantically, but I didn't think that she heard it.

I collapsed onto the chair that sat next to the couch and stared fixedly at my dad's face.

Against my will, tears began to build up in my eyes, and I started to break down.

_I can't live like this anymore. I've got to get away from here._

**I owe you guys a chapter. I know it's been really long, but I've been out of the country, and haven't had much time to write. **

**Oh, and SORRYY Summer Love is taking so long. I've got major writer's block on that one. But, I'm trying and trying to get it out for you guys.**


	4. Chapter 4

Just minutes later, I could hear sirens buzzing in the background. The noise grew louder and louded as the ambulance grew nearer.

Finally, a large white vehicle sat flashing and screeching in the driveway. Two paramedics hopped out of the car and rushed to the front door, ringing the doorbell several times impatiently.

I was waiting near the door, ready to answer it as soon as it rang. As my hand shot forward to open the door, the other one flew up to brush the tears from under my eyes. The door swung inward, and I stood staring at two tall men. I raised my hand shakily, and pointed in the direction of where my father lay.

"He's in there," I mumbled.

One nodded, and walked in the direction I had pointed in. The other stayed behind, though, and stared at me awkwardly. His eyes trailed all over my body, but stopped when he caught sight of my wrist. I realized what he was staring at, then hurriedly yanked down my sleeve.

He looked back up to my face.

"Why do you do it?" he asked softly.

Tears began flooding out of my eyes.

"Because my life sucks, that's why. Because I don't have a mother, because my dad is an alcoholic and he abuses me. But most of all, it's because nobody fucking cares. And I just want it all to go away. I think that's reason enough to cut yourself."

He grabbed my hand gently and pointed to the cut.

"This isn't a way to deal with your pain. You can do something about your dad. If he's sent to jail for child abuse, you won't have to worry about this happening again."

That just made me cry harder.

"But I can't just send my dad to jail! I'm still underage, i'm only seventeen. I won't be able to live here by myself. They'll send me to, like, an orphanage! I can't do that."

"Maybe you could consider a rehab center?"

"Uh.. yeah, right. Cause he'd really just pick up and go to one with a smile on his face. Get real." I snapped.

"Sorry, just trying to help. My dad was an alcoholic, too. He passed away a few years ago."

My expression softened. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just praying that he'll realize that what he's doing is freaking stupid and quit before it's too late. Even though I can't seem to do anything right, and I'm punished brutally," I pushed both my sleeves up, exposing the bruised flesh, and his eyes widened. "He's my dad, and I guess I love him."

He was about to respond, but his partner walked in the room.

He looked me in the eye, and I was expecting the worst news possible.

"He's not dead-yet- but he's not to far from it right now. He's severely intoxicated, and it's very dangerous for the both of you. Chances are, he'll get through this, but his hospital records tell me that this is not the first time the something like this has happened. Am I correct?"

I nodded weakly.

"After he wakes up, I do strongly believe that you should send him to a rehabilitation center."

I glanced at the other paramedic, who nodded enthusiastically in agreement before they both went back into the living room to carry my dad back to the ambulance.

I rode in the back of the ambulance, more tears falling from my eyes. I grabbed my dad's hand lightly, and shut my eyelids.

"Please, Dad, don't do this to yourself." I whispered softly, so that I could barely hear myself. "I do love you," I added, even more inaudibly.

The car turned sharply, and I almost flew out of my seat. We were finally parked in front of the hospital.

The back door swung open, and I saw both of them standing in front of me.

One motioned for me to get out first, so I ducked my head, as to not bang it on the top of the car, and climbed out.

They carefully brought my dad out after I had gotten out, and I followed as they wheeled him through the doors, straight into the E.R.

A team of doctors greeted us, and brought him into a room. Sitting down outside of it, I threw my head forward so that it rested in my hand, which was propped up on the arm of the uncomfortable plastic chair. The other hand quietly drummed on my thigh.

My eyes were starting to drift shut, but I fought to keep them open in case there would be news about him.

A doctor timidly tapped me on the shoulder as my eyes were about to close. They shot open, and I glared into the doctor's eyes.

"What the _hell _is going on? Is he okay?"

She shook her head.

"Still unconscious, I'm afraid,"

She held out her hand, which held a piece of paper. I just stared at it.

"What is it?" I demanded.

She smiled gently at me.

"It's a well-known center that's not too far from here. They've cured lots of people of their addictions. You should consider it."

I sighed, and took the paper. Drawing in a huge breath, I began to speak.

"Say I do end up clubbing him, and dragging him to this place. Where would I go?"

"There's a wonderful family in San Francisco-"

"San Francisco? What about him?"

I gestured wildly to the door. "What about Demi? I can't explain all of this to her. I can't leave her! She's the only one that I have left."

"Some sacrifices might have to be made, Ms. Cyrus,"

**Before you tell me it sucked, trust me, I know it does. **

**But, if you review, I've already got the next chapter written out, and I promise that it's better...**


	5. Chapter 5

_I can't. I just can't go away and leave everything behind. Demi means the world to me. Without her, I don't know what I would do. I can't just pack up and move to some stranger's house. But, I might just have to._

"I'm going to tell her. I'm going to tell Demi everything. She'll understand. She has to, right?" I mumbled to myself, and people were starting to stare.

"No, I'm not crazy!" I snapped, and they all quickly turned their heads.

But, I was starting to think that maybe I was. Crazy for believing that there was actually some way to get my dad into a therapy center, and somehow managing to get him to stay there. Sighing in frustration, I realized that I was over thinking this. This was the biggest decision that I've ever had to make in my life, and I needed time to think. There was so much that was running through my mind all at once, and I needed to just sit down and think about everything that was going on. I knew that it was selfish, but the reason that I'm hesitant to send him to get help is because I'm afraid of what's going to happen to me. It's not like me to just pick up and move to some stranger's house. But, I had to think about it. If my dad quit drinking, I guess that I would be able to sacrifice one thing in my life. The thing is, there's a persistent doubt in my head that's telling my that the chances of any place curing my father are very slim. I try to shove it out of my head, but I just can't. As much as I want to believe that my dad might change, for himself, for me, I know that the little voice in my mind is right. He's been drinking too much for too long now to just stop.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, abruptly shaking me out of my train of thought. A nurse, wearing a white surgical uniform, stood before me.

"Ms. Cyrus? Your dad's just woken up. You can go in now, talk to him about anything. He's completely detoxicated** (?? Is that a word?) **She nodded towards the piece of paper that was now crumbled in my clenched fist. I glanced down and released my grip. The piece of paper fell onto my lap.

"Right," I mumbled to the floor, and I got up, walking across the hallway. I stood behind the threshold of the door, and leaned in. My dad was propped up on his bed, a machine was connected to his arm. His eyes were red, and tired-looking. I knocked softly, tentatively, on the already open door. His head snapped up, and he stared straight into my eyes. I began to walk slowly into the whitewashed room, and when I reached his bedside, I sat down carefully on the chair.

"Dad," I greeted him, my eyes wandering around the room.

"Miley," He replied, looking straight into my face.

Before I could say anything else, he opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm sorry, so sorry, Miley. I'm sorry for everything that I've put you through. You should know that I never did intend to hurt you. I was drunk and stupid, and there's no way that I can ever make what I did up to you. I drank to take away the pain. It's been four years, Miley, and I still haven't gotten over her. I still love your mother. I understand completely if you won't, but please forgive me, Miles."

Silent tears rolled down my face.

"How can I, Dad? You may be sober right now, but how can I be sure that the next time you get upset, you won't just pick up a bottle?"

He had no answer, he just stared at me with pleading eyes. I thrust the paper at him, sighing. He lifted it out of my hand and straightened it out. His eyes scanned over the words quickly. A minute later, he looked up.

"I can't do that, Miley.." He began to say.

I just sat looking at him. I shut my eyes tight, and a few stray tears dripped out of them.

"Then, I'm really sorry, Dad. I just can't forgive you."

I stood up briskly, and walked quickly out of the room. Once I had entered the hallway, I could hear his hoarse voice calling out my name.

I shook my head and marched out of the hospital.

**Leave a comment and tell me what ya think!**


	6. Chapter 6

Once I was far enough away from the hospital, I broke out into a sprint. My breath turned uneven and shaky, and my face was damp with tears that had been brushed away from my eyes. I ran all the way back to my house, and once I had reached the front door, I began to feel guilty for not forgiving him, then running away. He really had looked sorry. I began to think that maybe I should drive back to the hospital, but a wave of anger passed through my body, and my eyes turned to slits. If he wasn't willing to change for me, then I had done the right thing by not forgiving him. I unlocked the house, and slowly walked inside. I ascended up the stairs slowly, wobbly, and started down the hallway to my bedroom. I flung myself down on the bed, and I finally broke down into tears. My body shook with sobs. Maybe he really was sorry, maybe he could control himself without someone else's help. But then again, I highly doubted it. He did look sorry, maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. I sucked in a huge breath and tried to steady my breathing. After fifteen more minutes of trying to calm myself down, and clearing my thoughts, I came to a conclusion. I would leave. I would pack my things, and leave my dad to make the decision on his own. If he chose to go, great. I'd come back after the session was over. If he didn't, I didn't think that I would be able to take it anymore. I was almost eighteen, in two months, I'd officially be an adult, I wouldn't legally need to live under the same roof as him. But for now, I'd find some place to live, far away. I'd make a life on my own, without him.

Standing up, I began to make my way over to my walk in closet. I pulled the chair from my desk in, and, standing on my tippy toes on top of it, I was able to reach the suitcase that rested on top of a tall cabinet. I set it down on the floor, and unzipped it carefully. I threw in my favorite pairs of jeans, a few pairs of shorts, and a couple armfuls of T-shirts. I crammed a couple pairs of shoes inside, and stuffed a large winter coat on the top. I struggled for a moment to zip it closed, but, soon, I managed. I stood it upright, and wheeled it into my room. Inside my oversized Louis Vuitton bag, I threw in just about everything else I could possibly need- wallet, cell phone, pictures of my mom, Demi, and I, make-up bag, iPod, toothbrush, hairbrush, etc., a couple books, my favorite Ray Ban Aviators, my journal, and yes, a stuffed dog that I've had since I was three.

I rolled the suitcase down the stairs, my bag was slung across my right shoulder. I stopped in the kitchen, and scrawled a hasty note and left it on the counter.

_Dad,_

_I'm sorry. I had to do this. I needed time to think. Maybe I'll come back, maybe I won't._

_I care about you, Dad. Don't forget that. I hope you make the right decision, but I'm not going to enforce it. _

_Someday, I know I'll see you again, but, until then, this is goodbye._

_Miley_

I couldn't stop the tears from cascading down my cheeks as I stepped out of the only house I had ever known, knowing that the chances of my coming back were slim. I flung my suitcase in the trunk of my car, and got into the driver's side. I just sat there, crying for a second, and I began to wonder if I really was making the right decision by leaving. I had no clue where I would be going, just follow the trail of Starbucks', until I got to someplace where I could stay.

My head rested against the steering wheel, and my body slunk down in the seat. How had my life gotten so screwed up to the point where I was running away from my home just to escape my problems?

I threw the car in reverse, and found myself creeping farther and farther away from the driveway. Salty tears rolled down my face, but the only thought in my head was to go away. I stopped at the local gas station, and bought bags of chips, not knowing when I could stop next.

As I drove away from the town, Demi, and everything that I had ever known, I began to cry again. But I knew that this was for the best. At least, that was what I told myself as I cruised down the highway, knowing fully well that I was probably making the biggest mistake of my life. But I had to do it. This was for the better. Demi and my dad would forgive me. But the real question was- would I ever forgive myself?

**Short chapter. But I had to get it up. Nick will most likely be in the next chapter!**


	7. Chapter 7

Nick Gray was angry. His face was blotchy and red, his hands were curled into fists.

"No. That's not possible."

The girl was crying.

"I'm sorry."

"I am, too."

Nick's world crashed around his feet. Gone. His brother was gone. Disappeared, like he was never even here.

The girl seemed to have read Nick's thoughts, and with a tight nod, she left him to his own thoughts.

_No. _

The single world was the only thing that seemed to be resounding in Nick's mind- or, at least, the only thing that made sense to him at the moment. Everything in his head was jumbled. His brother- the only person he had considered his family- was gone from this earth.

He stood up shakily, and walked slowly from the hospital.

The closest place to the hospital was a local park. The park was simple and old, didn't have much in it. A rusty old swingset and slide were all. Trees formed a canopy over the large clearing, and the area was completely shaded. A crisp breeze blew from the east, and flung Nick's curls wild. Tears pricked his soft chocolate eyes, but he would not let them fall.

He went to sit on the only wooden bench in the park, only to find that there was already a petite brunette sitting there.

Her shoulders were shaking, her curls bouncing with the movement. She cradled her head in her hands. She was either crying or laughing. As Nick walked closer, he heard the sound of choking sobs travel towards him.

Instead of walking away, and leaving the girl to herself, like he normally would have done, Nick stepped closer, as if he was drawn to her, by some magnetic field.

He kept walking until he was right besides her. She didn't notice, her eyes were pressed into her palms. She was struggling for air. She looked completely broken.

* * *

I had stopped driving, and had pulled up in a park. The crying had become too much. I had to stop, and think about what I was doing, maybe I was acting irrationally. Okay, that was a given. But irrationality is just me, it's how I act, what I think. If I ever stopped to think about something, I would honestly have myself checked into a mental hospital. It's just how I am.

So, I walked into the park, admiring the trees and birds and the serenity, and I sat down on a halfway rotten wooden bench. I couldn't help myself. I began to cry. I thought about what I had done, how I couldn't go back now. Yes, people, I am also completely stubborn. The silent tears soon turned into loud sobs, and I just couldn't control myself. I covered my blotchy face with my palms, and began to cry into my hands.

All of a sudden, I began to hear breathing- breathing that wasn't mine- and I realized that I wasn't alone. The stranger looked to be my age- around eighteen. He had wildly curly hair that wasn't really brushed properly, and chocolate brown eyes that made you want to drown in them. He was wearing a blue and white striped Ralph Lauren shirt, and dark wash American Eagle jeans, with a pair of black Converse on his feet. His cologne- Polo Black- radiated off of him, and my mouth began to water. It was like he knew exactly what turned me on. He wasn't bad looking at all. I should have been scared, some random stranger in a park standing behind me and watching me cry my guts out on a bench. I looked deep into his eyes, and knew that he felt nothing but concern for me. I then said the most intelligent thing that came to mind.

"Hi." _Yeah, real brilliant._

He smiled gently.

"Hi."

He sat down beside me then, and brushed a stray piece of my auburn hair out of my eyes.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong, or just sit there and sulk?" He asked jokingly, staring straight ahead.

I looked sideways into his eyes.

"You know, I'm not the biggest fan of telling complete strangers my whole life story."

"Okay, how's this for my life story. I'm Nick. Eighteen. Slightly emo, but don't let that scare you. I drive a fucking sweet black Mustang and live by myself." He wiggled his eyebrows. "So.. if you wanna come over sometime.."

I laughed hard, my eyes falling shut. That should have creeped me out, but I loved his sense of humor. I felt like I could actually tell him what was going on, and I hadn't even told Demi.

"Yeah, I think I'll pass."

"On an awesome night or on telling me?"

"How about both?"

He sighed, pretending to be mad.

"And I thought I had you. I'm a real stud, you know."

"I can see that." I giggled again.

"I told you my life story. How about yours?"

I took a deep breath.

"My name's Miley. I'm seventeen, and as long as we're on the car subject, I drive a black Audi. My parents are divorced, and up until like an hour ago, I lived with my dad. My best friend's name is Demi, and I'm pretty sure I'm never going to see her again. Music is my life, and I play the guitar. Any special talents, Mr. Stud?"

"Sure. I'm fuckin' awesome. And I'm fuckin' awesome at playing the guitar. Oh, and the tambourine. I'm beast on that, too."

"Do I sense a little bit of confidence in you, Mr. Fuckin' Awesome?"

"Just a little. Ya know, I like to keep it real."

"Uh huh."

"Seriously, I want to help you. Tell me what's wrong."

I shook my head.

"I can't. I'm sorry. Besides, you don't know me. Do you do this with everyone that you meet? Stalk them until you get your answers? How do I know you won't, like, rape me, or kill me or something."

"If I was going to rape and/or kill you, do you think I'd be here making small talk? And, what do you mean, you can't? Surely no one's gonna put you in jail for telling."

"Not me, exactly." I bit my bottom lip. "Look, Nick. Bottom line is, I can't tell you. It'll ruin everything I have going for me."

He smiled slowly, just a sad little half smile.

"How about a secret for a secret?" He said, looking sadder that he had before.

I need to get this off my chest. I need to tell somebody, even if it is a complete stranger I met not even five minutes ago in a public park hours away from my home.

I sigh, giving in.

"Fine. You go first."

He doesn't disagree, just nods sadly.

"My brother.. he was the only person left of my family, well, besides my dad, and I really don't even consider him part of my family. And he passed away this morning. I came here to clear my head, think things through. I'm trying not to cry, trying not to let it get to me. You were the perfect distraction." I could tell that he was trying not to cry, there were tears built up in his eyes, and he held them back.

I looked into his eyes and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and turned his body towards me, forcing him to look me in the eye.

"I'm so sorry, Nick."

"Hey, don't let me make you cry. You promised you'd tell me your secret. So spill."

I inhaled a deep breath, letting the clean air fill my lungs.

"My dad's an alcoholic. And, when he's drunk, he tends to get violent." I whispered slowly, and lifted the black sleeve of my shirt to show Nick the bruises on my arms. His eyes widened.

"Oh my god. Miley, I had no idea. He should be in jail, or at least at a rehab center. Your dad did that to you?"

"Yup. He refuses to get help. Some family I have, huh? I guess we're both pretty screwed up in the that department."

He nodded grimly, with no sense of humor written on his face.

"And you ran away from home to get away from all that? I really don't blame you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. My life's sucked since I was a kid. My mom and sister left when I was thirteen, but even before that, no one was really around to care for me."

"I know how you feel. My mom died when I was nine, and my dad is kind of an asshole. He's never around, and we never keep in touch, except when he calls to yell at me about how I flunked my math quiz. Like he really cares. I used to live with my brother, but, you know, he was in a car accident last week, and I've been by myself since then."

"Wow. I've been thinking about doing this for a while, but it wasn't until my dad flat out refused to go to some rehab place that I realized that I had to get away. I miss Demi the most. She was the one who kept me sane, she basically kept me from killing myself."

"Come live with me."

I was taken completely by surprise.

"Um.. what?"

"You heard me. I'm alone, you have no place to go, you're by yourself, so why not?" I guess that he saw my expression, and he rolled his eyes and added, "I promise not to rape you."

I gave a tiny laugh.

"Yeah, I'd like that."


	8. Chapter 8

He looked surprised.

"Whoa. Aren't you the sensible one who always thinks the worst? And now you've agreed to move into a complete stranger's flat. You're throwing me off, here."

I giggled.

"Something about you makes me think that you're not a bad guy."

"And what might that be?"

"Dunno. You're cologne's pretty nice. And because of the fact that you actually stopped to calm down a random girl you saw crying her guts out on a park bench."

"You base a character off of his cologne?"

"Pretty much, yeah. You want a ride back to the hospital?"

"Yeah, sure. It's going to be completely different without him, you know? He was my best friend. I really miss him."

"Let it out, Nick. The only way to get something out of your mind is if you let it all go, and you're not afraid to show a little bit of vulnerability."

"I can't do that."

"Why not, Nick?"

"Because I'm scared. I'm scared that I'll look in his room and break down. I don't want to become depressed thinking about him, and do all the stupid shit I've gotten into once."

"Stupid shit?" I asked, quoting him.

"Drugs, excessive drinking. Even cutting. You get the picture. It's definitely not something I'm proud of."

"Wow."

"Yeah, that's usually the reaction. Don't worry, you're not gonna open the fridge and find like, pot in there or something. I'm clean. Swear."

"Yeah, I believe you."

"Any mysterious things from your past I should know about?" He joked.

"Well, I've actually never drunk before, never touched a cigarette, but there was a point where I couldn't handle life as it was anymore, and I started to cut myself. Last time was actually a while ago. Don't think I'm going there again."

He grabbed my hand and looked deep into my eyes.

"Don't you dare cut yourself again. Life's to precious to throw away."

"You said you cut yourself."

"I also said it was stupid shit. Never going there again. Waste of time and stupid emotions."

"I get that, but sometimes you don't have a choice. When your life is already hell, doesn't it make sense just to end it all? Nothing was right for me, I had one thing to live for, and that was my best friend, and now even she's gone."

"Miley, things can only get better. You won't be in pain forever. I know from my own experience." Nick leaned in then, to where he was centimeters away from my face. I could feel him breathing against my skin, and his lips touched my cheek, right near the corner of my lips. The sensation seemed to linger for a minute, and then he pulled away.

"Let's go. I'm sorta freezing my ass off."

I looked at him. "You're smart. Maybe next time when you walk outside you should think about putting on a jacket." I gasped sarcastically, mocking him.

"Hey. There's no need for mockery here. That's not very nice."

"Who said I was very nice?"

"Don't even go there, Miley. You're probably the fucking purest person I've ever met."

"Hmm. I'd like to meet the people you hang out with."

"Maybe some other time."

"I'm taking you to that, Gray."

"We gonna stand here forever?"

I shake my head no, and get up to begin to walk to my car. He follows, and gets into the passenger seat.

"Where's your place?"

"Uh.. get out of the park, and go right. Keep going till the main road and hang a left. In a couple minutes the hospital will be on your left. Can't really miss it. It's a hospital."

"Kay." I followed his directions, and soon enough, I'm parked in front of a large hospital building.

I twist my keys and pull them out of the ignition, just as my phone begins to buzz.

_miley. where. the. hell. are. you?_

_a very mad demi. :(_

My eyes fill with tears as I exit out of the text without replying. Just seconds later, my phone rings- Vanilla Twilight, Owl City- and, again, it's Demi. How'd I predict that? I ignore her call and get out of my car, following Nick up to the receptionist's desk.

"I can't believe I'm doing this. Oh my god. What's wrong with me? I ran away from my home. I'm about to hurt my best friend. No. No, I have to go back."

"Back to your dad? Where he's probably just going to be drunk and abusive? Back to cutting yourself and doing more harm to your body than you would ever know- until it's too late? Is that really what you want?"

"No, but Demi. I can't just stay here and keep ignoring her."

"So talk to her." He said, like it was the most logical thing in the world.

"If I talk to her, she'll want to know where I am."

"So tell her." He shrugged his shoulders. "What's the big deal?"

"You don't get it, do you? This is the most stupid, most reckless thing I've ever done in my life. Demi will murder me if she knows where I am. And then she'll yell at me for three days, of course."

"From what you told me, she's your best friend. She's going to support your decisions."

"But she's Demi. She does what her heart tells her to. She doesn't always care about supporting decisions. She'll do what she thinks is right for me."

"This is right for you. Better than living with someone who hits you."

"She doesn't know that."

"Then, ohmygosh! Here's an idea! Tell her."

"Oh, it's not that easy and you know it."

"Do I?"

"Oh, Jesus."

"She's your best friend. It's, like, her job to understand. Isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but she'll feel like I didn't trust her enough to tell her. Friendship is about trust. If we don't even have that, what do we have?"

"Damn. Girls are complicated."

I sigh. "You're useless. Screw this."

"Not my fault that you're so fucking complicated. To me, the answer's easy. Tell the poor girl before she loses her mind looking for you."

"You really think I should?"

He rolls his eyes. "Now she listens. Yes, I do. She trusts you enough that she expects you to tell her when something's wrong."

I nod my head slowly. "Okay. Yeah, I will. Oh, and Nick?"

"Yeah?" He nods by way of recognition.

"I don't think that I ever really formally told you this, but I'm really sorry about your brother. I know what it's like to lose somebody you care so much about. I've lost two somebodies. It's hard at first, but then you accept that they're gone. To me, death is life's next great adventure, and not for mourning. In a way, it's a celebration of life, the life they once had."

He nods again, this time there's a slight smile on his face.

"Yeah. Thanks a lot, Miley. You've really been a big help."

"I'm glad. Experience tells me that being sad gets you absolutely nowhere. When you shut people out, they stop wanting to help, and then you're alone. If there's anybody who knows the feeling of being alone, it's me. I know that I don't know you at all, but I don't want that to happen to you. When you build up walls, it's not helping anybody."

He nods, just a little half nod, but I understand what he's trying to get through. Talking about it hurts him, though he's made a brave facade for himself and letting anybody seeing him any other way would be suicide.

When we get to the hospital, Nick's just about to lose it. His hands are shaking as he signs in at the receptionist's desk, making his signature all sloppy and crooked. He's even muttering to himself under his breath, cursing to God, no doubt.

I think about what all this might actually do to a person, and what he's going through. When you've just lost somebody close to you, the feeling of abandonment doesn't leave your mind. He's probably finding some way to make himself responsible for what happened to his brother, though I doubt that's the case. I'd find out the reason later, when or if he was ready to tell me. Right now, the best thing to do would be to leave him be to sort out his thoughts and emotions, which are no doubt scrambled up crazily right now.

While Nick is in the room with his brother, saying a final goodbye, I think about what he told me about best friends always being there to understand you, and I realize that it's true. Whenever I wanted to tell Demi something, she was always right there to listen. I pick up the phone and dial her familiar number by memory.

**Parents have blocked me from the internet unless I 'really really' need it. I really really needed it now, so here. :) Because of this stupid rule, updates are coming slower. I'll do my absolute best, I swear! Hope you like it. Took me long enough, huh? Sorry bout that... **


	9. Chapter 9

_I have to do this_, I remind myself. _For Demi. She'll have a heart attack if you don't call. But if I call, she'll want to know where I am. I don't want to tell her yet. She'll come get me and there's no way she'd let me stay here with some stranger. Oh, God. I'm going to be in the same apartment as a guy I found on the street! Ain't that lovely? He could be a mass murderer! Or a rapist! Miley, what on earth have you gotten yourself into! I thought this would be the best for me, getting away from everything I knew and just starting from scratch. But maybe I'm just making the biggest mistake of my life. _

I realize that I'm arguing with myself. I'm either insane or nervous. I choose the latter for the time being, and press the green button on my phone, then hold it to my ear. I'm hoping and praying to God for the best when the line starts ringing._  
_

The phone rings exactly three times before I hear a soft click on the other end of the line. Damn, I was really hoping that she'd be asleep or out or just have let her phone die again as was her habit.  
"Jesus Christ." She breathes into the microphone as way of greeting.  
"You know, I prefer Miley."  
"No. Hell no. You don't get to use sarcasm with me, missy. Now would you be so kind as to tell me where the hell you are?"  
"Is it totally crazy if I don't know?"

"You don't know?" She says, dumbfounded.

"Listen, Demi. I've been such a horrible friend to you and you deserve to know the truth. So I'm gonna tell you, but you have to promise to just hear me out and don't get too mad with me, alright?"

"You know who you're talking to, right? I can tell you that I'll hear you out, but I make no promises whatsoever about not getting mad. Shoot."

I take a deep breath, letting fresh oxygen clean out my lungs before I begin.

"So you know how I haven't taken you to my house ever since my mom left? And how I've always dressed weird and stuff?"

"Yeah, like those crazy jeans and sweaters in June. What's up with that?"

I come right out and say it, not knowing how to stall anymore.

"My dad's an alcoholic."

Demi takes a minute to let her mind register what I've just told her. I bite my lip, waiting for her to reply.

"And he hits you." She concludes, her voice just barely above a whisper.

"Yup."

"Oh my God. Miley, tell me- just please, tell me- that you're kidding. Ha. Ha. So funny. Now where are you?"

"I'm not kidding, Dem. I know that I only made things worse by hiding this for years, but you understand that it's what I had to do, right? For the sake and well being not just of me, but for you also."

"No. It can't be true."

"Oh, but it is, my dear friend."

"I want to know everything, Miley. How bad did he hurt you? When did all of this begin?"

"It started the day after my mom left. He bought himself a 6-pack of beer and just chugged it down. I noticed something in his eyes for the first time that day. A coldness, this harshness that I'd never seen before. He seemed like he was just full of hate towards everything and anything. Unfortunately, when he got mad there was nobody else around for him to take it out on. I didn't notice this man at all. My dad, the one I'd loved and became familiar with, was now this violent creature who hid behind a television and a can of beer. I was only thirteen at the time, Dem. I had no idea what was going on. I just stood there and took it."

I hear her breathing unsteadily on the other end, and I know that she's still listening. It's hard to stop talking once I begin, and the story keeps pouring out, year by year, until I'm back in the present with my dad at the hospital, where he was sober for the first time in years.

"They're going to send him to rehab, Demi! Where am I supposed to do? I'm not legally old enough to live by myself, so they're sending me and my sorry ass to San Francisco if I go back!"

Her voice gets thick after that, and I can tell that she's choking back tears and maybe she's already crying. "I'm so sorry. I could have been there for you all these years. I could have done something. We could have figured something out, but I'm just the worst best friend in the freaking world and I was only concerned about myself. If only-"

I cut her off right there. "Demi! Don't for a second ever let yourself feel bad for this. It is in no way at all in this universe that any of this could have been helped or eluded. You're the best friend I could have ever asked for, and I'm so lucky to have you."

"But you were always so sad and I did nothing to ever look into it further. You wore turtlenecks in the summer, and on the days where you were wearing a short sleeved t-shirt, there were always bangles or something on your wrist-" She stops herself, putting two and two together. "Holy shit. No, please tell me that you haven't been cutting yourself."

I pause before answering. "Not recently."

"I'm coming to get you, okay? I need to see you in person."

"Demi, as much as I really want to see you, I need to spend some time by myself right now. Away from the big city, away from all the people. Just me, you know? I need to get everything in my mind straightened out."

"Yeah, I get it. Just make sure that you call me, okay?" She says, but her tone makes it clear that she doesn't get me or my reasons at all. "I miss you, Miley. I want you to come back. It's just me and my mom now, and I've never felt more alone."

"I miss you too, more than you know. It's just hard for me to come back right now, with my dad and everything. Bye, Dem. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"You better call me, okay? Bye, Miles."

The line goes dead. I just sit there, not blinking, just staring. What the hell did I do?

**Emotional climax.. dun dun dunn. I know that it's short! And it's also pretty suckish. I'm really sorry that it's taking me do long. My school ends this week, so I'll have more time to write once I'm in summer vacation. I've actually got a couple new ideas for stories, and hopefully they'll be up sometime soon. Reviews are lovelyy:)**


	10. Chapter 10

I keep thinking that it was the right thing to do, that she really deserved to know. She's going to be there for me, I know it. That's just Demi. But, knowing Demi, she'll make me go to San Francisco if she knows that it will be better for me. And if I refuse to go, she'll be there to strap me to her car and take me there herself. She'll want what's best for me. Then I finally realize that I don't even know what's truly best for myself.

Nick walks out then, looking frustrated and not too happy at all. "Funeral's arranged and all that shit. We can go."

I stand up slowly. He looks at me as I pick up my purse and put my phone into one of the outer pockets.

"What happened to you? You look like you just saw Barney." I don't think he realizes it, but he shudders a little bit.

"What the _hell_?" He's keeping a straight face, so I honestly don't know whether or not he's kidding.

"Seriously, though. What's got you all weird?"

"I took your advice, and I don't think that it turned out very well."

"Funny, I don't remember giving you any."

"About calling Demi back. I talked to her, and told her everything. Absolutely everything. And now I'm just really confused as to where this leaves us."

"It's good that you called her. I don't know how your female mind works, but with guys, we just tell our friends when something's wrong. Because even if they get mad, we can take 'em when they try to beat us up. Though I doubt that's how it works with girls."

"Nobody beats anybody up. That's just your male race."

"Well, you told her. Why are you confused?"

"Because we hung up on an extremely awkward note. There's no way for me to know what she's thinking about all of this. I've been lying to her for most of the time that I've known her. She's probably not too thrilled that I'd keep something like this from her, though I think she gets that I had to, keep both myself and her safe."  
"Like I said, she's supposed to be your best friend. She'll be there for you, even if she doesn't like that you've been keeping something like this from her, something that was potentially very dangerous and could land you in a hospital or quite possibly dead." He picks up my wrist and reminds me of the now healed wounds there. "Friends protect each other. If she knew, she'd never let you do something as wrong as cut yourself. Sometimes life sucks, and it's hard just to live to see the next day, but ending it all isn't the answer. You just have to pull through and remind yourself that everything's eventually going to be okay."  
"How can you know? How can anybody know that things will turn out alright? I know she will be there to support me, but it's obvious that things will be extremely awkward now. She's going to make me go to San Francisco and live with that stupid family, because it's what she'll think is best for me."  
"San Francisco? Well, congratulations. You're already there."  
"Wait. I'm in San Francisco? I'd only driven for like an hour."  
"Well, I don't know where you came from. But you could have been so distracted that three or four hours could feel like just one."  
"That's probably what happened. I just stopped in that park because everything was starting to make sense and I was just then realizing what I did and then I started thinking that this was such a horrible mistake, so I started crying. My car was swerving all over the place so I felt like I needed to just stop and think for a little bit, Calm myself down."  
He nods. "So what was that about a stupid family that you're going to live with?"  
"First of all, if I get my way, I'm absolutely not going to go live with them. I'm trying to force my dad into rehab or something, and if he ends up going, then it'll just be me by myself at me house. I'm only seventeen right now, so it wouldn't be legal for me to live by myself. They're going to send me to some house where I would live with some foster family or something for the next couple months until I turned eighteen and I am officially old enough to live on my own. I'll go back to my house, and live there by myself until my dad comes back from rehab and he's hopefully cured."  
"It couldn't be that bad," Nick says gently. "They've got to be nice people. They're offering a place for you to stay and eat, and it's only for a couple months."  
"Yeah, but I've always been independent. I've never had to rely on anybody else. I've been taking care of myself ever since my mom left, and it would seem wrong to do anything else. Maybe it's just better for him not to go to rehab at all. It's not like it'd work anyway. He's been drinking for way too long for this to help in any way. I can live with it, with getting beaten. I've been doing in for years now."  
"Would your mom have wanted this? For you to live with your dad who's drunk all the time? For you to get hit and abused when you do something just a little bit wrong? I doubt it, Miley."  
"Yeah, well my mom's also not one who cares too much about me. If she did, why on earth would she have left me with my father? Why would she leave me behind and run away with her youngest daughter and her new husband? My mom wouldn't care what I did with him. I'm starting to think that she never cared about anything I did."  
"Don't believe that. I don't know what happened with your mom, but she was probably just leaving because it was what she thought would be best for you."  
"Me growing up without any sort of a motherly figure would be best for me? What jacked up world do you live in?"

"Didn't you mention something about your mom and dad fighting all the time? Maybe she didn't want you to grow up around all of that. It's not like she knew that your dad would turn into some crazy alcoholic maniac. If she could somehow know that this is what would happen, I'd bet that she never would have left."

"I guess that there's no way to tell, is there? No way to turn back time and really see what her true intentions were. I was too young at the time to actually understand what was going on and why they were constantly yelling at each other. But then she left and everything just made a certain amount of sense."  
"Life just has a funny way of working out, doesn't it? We just have to believe that everything is happening for a reason, and that God has a plan for us all. Joe dying and your dad having addiction problem is just part of that plan. In the end, we'll end up stronger and more experienced than before. We just have to ride it out and see what the future holds."  
"Oh, my God. I'm being such an inconsiderate _bitch _right now, aren't I? Your brother just., passed away.. and here I am complaining to you about my problems. I'm so sorry."  
"Hey, it's fine. It's actually better that I don't think about him. Keep rambling, please. It gives me something besides the obvious to think about."  
"Nick, no one's here to judge you. If you cry, nobody cares. The best thing you can do is just let out all of your feelings and emotions. It helps, trust me. I've been through enough shit to know about this kind of thing. Sometimes the best therapy is curling up on your bed with some ice cream and John Mayer."  
"Yeah. I'm sorry, but that's such a girl thing. I don't do ice cream or John Mayer. And I don't curl up on my bed either. And I don't cry."  
"Just let go of your pride for once. You're hurting right now, you're just too cocky to show it. Nick, nobody expects you to be calm and collected about this kind of thing. Losing somebody hurts like hell."  
He sighs. "It's not my thing, you know? I'm the guy who doesn't let people know what he's really feeling. I pretend like I'm happy and no one cares or notices. It all works out fine."  
"Yeah, but by keeping everything to yourself, you're going to end up doing more damage to yourself than it's worth. And just what, exactly, did you mean when you said that you don't do John Mayer?"  
"I meant that he's an overrated asshole." Nick smirks.  
I pretend to be offended. "You didn't just say that. I can't be friends with a guy that doesn't like John Mayer, I'm sorry."  
"Come on. '_Say what you need to say'_' repeated like ninety-seven times in a three minute song doesn't qualify as good music, but maybe that's just me. Didn't I see him on PBS Kids once?"  
"Whatever. Think what you want, but he's a fucking beast."  
"Wow. Someone has issues."  
"Someone's arrogant." I mock him.  
We're still walking through the hallways of the hospital, and we're just now getting to the main entrance.  
"My cars over there." He points to a shiny black Mustang, and I nod. "Can you follow me out? In case you lose me, you just turn right out of that entrance and head straight until you pass three lights. Then you'll see an apartment complex. If you still can't find my car, it's building number three, and it'll be on your right side. Got it?"  
"Yeah." I repeat the directions. "Right for three lights, apartment complex, building number three on the right?"  
"Yup." He clarifies with a nod of his head. The movement makes his curls bounce and it's adorable. "See you there." He holds up a hand and starts to walk in the opposite direction to his car."  
I get to mine, and start the engine. I follow his car out of the large parking lot, and soon we're at the first light. It's red, but we caught the next to as they turned to green, so we're inside his complex just a few minutes later. I park beside him in front of his building, and we both get out.  
"You have any luggage?" He asks as he presses his keys and locks his car.  
"Yeah, a suitcase and a bag." I open the trunk and attempt to pull my suitcase out. It's incredibly heavy and I'm starting to wonder how in the hell I got it inside the trunk in the first place. He rolls his eyes and gently pushes me out of the way, grabbing the handle of the black and pink suitcase. He pulls it out easily, without any struggle at all.  
"Show off." I mutter, though I'm impressed.  
"Hey, not my fault you're incredibly weak."  
"I'm not weak!" I protest, but he laughs in my face. Jerk.  
He shakes his head at the size of my bag.  
"It is absolutely beyond me why girls feel the need to carry bags the size of freaking Jupiter wherever they go."  
"We have important stuff in there." I explain.  
"Like?"  
"Makeup and stuff. You know."  
"Okay. That's just weird. A forty pound bag full of makeup?"  
"Pretty much."  
"Why do girls wear makeup?" He wonders. I've noticed that he asks a lot of questions. Sigh. This could get annoying.  
"So they don't look ugly."  
"You'd be beautiful without makeup."  
_Oh, my God. I'm going to die. How sweet is he? _I blush a deep shade of red, and I'm sure he notices because he smiles this tiny smile.  
"Thanks." I whisper, because it's all I can say.  
He doesn't answer, just smiles as he picks up my suitcase and carries it up the one flight of stairs to his apartment. I nestle my bag into the crook of my arm and follow after him. He fumbles with his keys and finally gets them into the door. When he opens it, I'm looking into a really nice apartment. All I can see is a nice sized living room, where everything- absolutely everything- is bright white. The couches and rugs are angular and they make the room look modern and incredibly clean. There's a glass coffee table in the center of the room.  
"The white's a bit much, isn't it? It was Joe's idea. Every room's a completely different color. Oh, and I hope you like the color purple."  
"I'm fond of purple." I tell him, smiling. He takes me further into the flat, and I notice that the kitchen's all black, one of the bathrooms is all red, and his bedroom is decorated in only royal blue. I realize that everything is immaculately clean, and that's abnormal, especially for a guy living on his own.  
"You've had a long day, Miley. Take a nap." He opens the door to a room that's got walls that are a deep violet, and the bed and dresser are a dark cherry wood.  
"Wow. This is really pretty." I compliment.  
"Yeah, This was Joe's room. His favorite color was purple. It's weird, I know." He says with a sad smile on his face.  
"No, that's awesome. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Letting me live at your place is more than I could have ever asked from you."  
"Don't worry about it. I would have been extremely lonely and bored if it was just me here."  
He puts my suitcase by the dresser. "Make yourself at home. The closet's all yours to use."  
I nod my head. "Thanks." He walks out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. I change into a pair of gray sweatpants and a purple tank top because they're the first things I find in my suitcase. I'm too tired at the moment to unpack it all, so I decide that I'll do it after I wake up from my nap.  
I lie down on the bed and sink into the mattress.  
"What the hell is wrong with me?" I ask myself. "Oh, yeah. Right. I'm a crazy psychotic bitch who has no idea what's right for myself. What have I gotten myself into? This is such a huge mistake."  
My eyes are still wide open, and I'm staring at the rotating fan. It's calming, really, the sound of the blades spinning rapidly, and I guess that it put me to sleep. I dream about the unclear future, and everything's blurry. I don't know what's in store for me, but I guess that only time can tell as of right now.

**Sounds like Nick and Miley are getting closee... :) I'm really trying to get chapters out faster now! Summer's here so I'll have more time to write! Review please, loves!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm going to say this now, because I may or may not get copyright infringement hell for this. I OWN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING IN THIS STORY EXCEPT FOR THE PLOT AND THE OBVIOUS STUFF. I don't own John Mayer (though I wish I did) or his songs, or any company or name that is in this story. Thank you:)**

My eyelids open, and I'm startled to see that I'm not in my own room. I never would have thought that the yellow walls of my bedroom would be able to offer solace, but they're what I'm craving to see right now. Anything that looks familiar would be comforting right now. Anything. The scene is extremely unfamiliar. I'm staring into a purple ceiling, still wondering where the hell I am. Then it hits me. I'm not at home. I probably won't be home for a while. You know that feeling you get when you wake up from a nap and find that it's afternoon and you feel like the world's spinning and the last thing you want to do is get up? Yeah, pretty much how I feel. It's disorienting, and my mind's trying to keep up with everything else my body is doing.

"I was starting to think you were dead." Nick's standing by the door of the room, and he's leaning lazily against the frame.

"How long was I asleep?" I ask, stifling a yawn.

He glances at his watch. "Uh.. eight, no.. nine hours."

My eyes widen in shock. "Nine hours? You couldn't have woken me up?"

"You'd probably have bitten my head off, so.."

"What time is it?"

"Four in the morning." He states, shrugging like it's a perfectly acceptable time to be awake.

"Why the hell are you not asleep?"

He shrugs again. "I don't need sleep. I'll probably head to bed in a couple hours."

"That's probably not a good habit. You're going to get purple bags under your eyes. And, trust me- that's not attractive."

"Whatever. I've been doing this since I was eleven."

"What do you do until six in the morning?"

"I always make myself a sandwich around two, then I'll drink a coffee around three, and I'll watch movies or work on some music."

"You write music?" I ask, interested.

"Yeah, a little. I've been playing guitar since I was nine, and I do write a bit, but I've never had too much success."

"That's really cool. I used to play the piano, but I stopped after my mom left. I was good, really good, but then things got hard and there were more important things to focus on than my music."

"You should start again." He points down the hall. "I've kinda got a makeshift music room in there. It's got a bunch of recording equipment, mics, a piano, a few basses, and at least forty guitars. It's where I spend most of my time."

"I don't think I could play. It's been almost six years since I quit. I'm sure that I've forgotten everything, and if I do remember the basics, I'm sure I suck."

"Music isn't something that you just forget in six years. You might be a little rusty but I'm sure that everything you've learned is in there somewhere."

"Maybe. I guess I'd have to see."

"Come on then."

"Okay. I mean, if you promise not to laugh if I do end up sucking."

He laughs. "I doubt that you'll suck, but I promise anyway."

"Good." I let him lead me out of the room. He opens the door to his music room and I gasp. It's incredible. There are guitars basically everywhere- hanging on the walls and on stands on the floor. There's a piano on the back wall, and a huge panel with recording equipment. In the back, there's a small section secluded by a glass wall. The only things in there are a microphone on a stand and a white and black Fender Stratocaster.

"Oh, my God. This is freaking amazing!"

He smiles. "I'm pretty proud of this room. I'm still working on it, though."

"Wow." I say, still looking around.

"Go ahead." He says, probably noticing me looking longingly at the glossy, elegant black piano.

"I don't really know if I can." I admit sheepishly, but go over to the piano anyway.

I sit down at the bench, and without any hesitation, play a single note, holding it, letting it's simple voice fill the empty silence of the room. I recognize it as a C, and use my other hand to layer treble notes on top of it. Then I stop the sound all together and close my eyes. I'm guessing that my fingers know something that my mind doesn't, because they've found their way back to the keyboard, and they're starting to play a melody that I know as Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. I'm sure that I played this in a recital before when I was maybe ten or so, and it surprises me that I still remember it. I don't open my eyes until I'm done with the song. I look up to see that Nick had moved from the entrance of the room, and had taken a seat next to me on the bench without me even noticing. It's always been like that, I guess. When I'm playing music, nothing and nobody matters except the piece that I'm focusing on.

He doesn't say anything at first, but then breathes out a soft "Damn."

I shake my head. "No. It's all off. I sound really horrible. Nowhere near how I used to be able to play."

"That was pretty damn incredible for someone who hasn't played in six years."

"I played better when I was twelve."

"Hard to believe."

"It's true." I sigh. "Playing again just brings back so many memories. My dad was always the one to encourage me to pursue this music thing. He always pushed me to try my hardest. He really believed that I had talent in me. When I sat on this bench, I thought about how he would sit by my side two hours every day while I practiced, correcting me when I was wrong, praising me when I did something right. He was the best teacher I'd ever had. It feels wrong to be playing without him."

He nods. "I guess I can't relate, because my dad was never there for me when I needed him. I don't think he knows that I even write music or play guitar. Joe was the one who helped me with my music career. He went to Berklee and got a degree in Music Engineering. He taught me most of this- how to record, how to use the panels and stuff. He never did anything with his degree, though. He'd only graduated last month."

"I bet he was good."

He just nods. "So, you wanna help me finish this song I've been working on?"

"I don't think I have a choice."

He hands me a sheet of paper. It's got a few lines written on it, and I take it that this is what he's got so far on the lyrics. There are a lot of scratched out words and arrows pointing to variations of the same line. In big, messy handwriting, _Edge of Desire _is written on the top margin in scribbled, boyish handwriting. (**John Mayer song. I do not own, but I LOVE.)**

"I have a few chords down that make up the chorus and the first verse, and also some stray variations. The basic melody is done, and I just need to finish the lyrics. That would be where I need your help."

_Don't say a word, just come over and lie here with me,_

_Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see. _

_I want you so bad, I'll go back on the things I believe._

_There, I just said it- I'm scared you'll forget about me._

My eyes scan over the verse that is scrawled on the wrinkled sheet of notebook paper in black pen.

"Play me what you have." I demand. He pulls a glossy, smooth, chestnut-colored acoustic guitar off the wall, introduces it as being named "Libby", and sits down with it. I giggle at the ridiculous name. He strums the A and D strings, and briefly tunes it to perfection. (**Pull up YouTube or iTunes here and listen to Edge of Desire *acoustic* for the full effect.)**

He pulls a sparkly purple pick out of his pocket, and begins plucking a series of fast staccato notes.

Mesmerized, I watch in awe as Nick throws his entire being into the song that he's playing. His eyes are closed, and his lightning-fast fingers fly swiftly, effortlessly, over the neck of the beautiful guitar.

I pull his lyrics sheet towards me, and grab a pen that had been carelessly tossed onto the floor. Tugging off the cap with my teeth, I furiously write words, random ideas, onto the page. His guitar melody is still going on in the background, but I'm not paying much attention anymore. The sudden burst of inspiration was coming through, and I madly try to get all the ideas floating in my mind onto the paper.

He finished the song and holds the last cord, draws it out for a few seconds, letting the ambiance resonate in the air.

I smile encouragingly at him. "You, my friend, have the skin and bones of a potential Grammy winner right there."

He throws a quick glance at the words that I have scribbled on the paper.

_Young and full of running,_

_All the way to the edge of desire._

_Steady my breathing, silently screaming,_

_I have to have you know. _

"I like that a lot. I'd fit well as a bridge, you think?"

"Yeah. And maybe the first line would work as the opening line of the song, also?"

We sit there until the sun comes up and covers the world in it's happy golden color, just bouncing ideas off of each other.

Around nine, I get up from off the floor, and walk into the kitchen. I turn on his fancy, hi-tech coffee maker, and pull two coffee mugs from a cabinet. I walk back into the room once the coffee has brewed, and take a cautious first sip. It burns my tongue slightly, so I blow on it gently and wait for it to cool down a bit. I hand him the other mug and warn him to be mindful of the temperature.

"So, guess what?" He asks, with a thousand-watt smile plastered on his face.

"What's that, Nick?" I play along and tack a grin to my face also.

"It's done." He announces proudly. "I swear to God, Miley. That was the most productive night of my life. This would have taken me years to finish, and it wouldn't have been half as good."

"I doubt that. You're amazing as a songwriter. Promise me that you'll never give it up, okay?"

"Promise." His eyes light up. "This is damn good coffee. I've tried like hell, and I can't get it to come out not tasting watery."

"What can I say? I'm just that good." I tease, and poke his arm.

This felt so natural. It didn't feel like I'd first met Nick not even twenty-four hours ago, but like we'd been close friends for years. I didn't feel like I had to hide anything with him; I'd told him my biggest secret within ten minutes of meeting him, when my best friend was informed years too late. He wouldn't mock me because of my rather stupid, idiotic decisions, but would laugh about them with me. He made me feel like I had purpose here, like there was something in life that was worth living for. And, for that, I'm eternally grateful. In more ways than one, Nick Jonas kinda sorta saved my life.

**I gotta say this: I'm pretty proud of myself. Two updates in less than a week? This is amazing for me, considering my sloooowwwww progress lately. Leave me a review, please? I'll love you forever and ever if you do...:) Thanks for reading this, all you amazing people. **


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